


Dungeons & Dragons:- Avengers Edition

by Trawler



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dungeons and Dragons, Giant rats, Long Time No Sex, M/M, Nice Dice, Oral Sex, Orange Soda, Shameless Use of Tolkein, Tavern Wench - Freeform, dice - Freeform, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 03:41:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17500865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trawler/pseuds/Trawler
Summary: Peter Parker's done the impossible - gathered four Avengers in the same room, at the same time, to play Dungeons & Dragons. Even more impossibly, Tony finds himself falling for Stephen. But after Pepper's death he's wary about making the first move.





	1. 1

“You may now turn over your character sheets,” Peter said.

“How come you get to be the Dungeon Master?” I asked, flipping over the stapled pages. “I pretty much founded the Avengers, I should get to lead this band of merry misfits.”

“And I am the King of Asgard,” Thor said. “ _I_ should lead the game!”

“Sorcerer Supreme,” Stephen announced, holding up a hand.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”

“I’m not leading, Tony.” Peter crossed his arms, telegraphing spiky defence. “I’m telling a story, and I’m helping you guys tell that story. Now are you gonna sit there and ask stupid questions or are we gonna play?”

I sat back in the chair, throwing my hands up. “Alright, alright. Keep your panties on, kid.” I called him a kid, but he’d dropped the whole ‘Mr Stark’ thing right about the time we killed Thanos.

It wasn’t my idea to play Dungeons and Dragons. I’d never played and until now, the game had barely been on my radar; I was too busy leading a real fantastical life to spend time worrying on a make-believe one. But Petey had done the impossible – got a whole bunch of us together in one room at the same time. No emergencies, no disasters, no impending apocalypse. Just a bunch of people who only hated each other a little bit. It was a slice of normal I never thought I’d get back. 

“Wait, hang on.” Stephen flicked his fingers over a page. “Why am I not playing a wizard or a sorcerer? Or a druid. I’d make an excellent druid. I could probably manage a necromancer, though my career was working on the living rather than the dead…”

Peter rolled his eyes. “The whole point of this is to be someone you’re not. So let’s go round the circle and introduce ourselves, OK?”

“But I have no experience as a fighter!”

“I should be the fighter!” Thor announced, sweeping his arm across the table. “A noble paladin, perhaps!”

Ugh. The only person who could play a paladin was the Cap. And he was off playing happy families with his murdering best buddy. Did that make him a fallen paladin? 

I dragged my mind away from those dark thoughts.

“Dude,” I said, nudging Stephen with an elbow, “You piss him off too much, he’s gonna make you play a halfling bard or something.”

Stephen’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you didn’t know anything about the game.”

“See, there’s this little thing called the Internet,” I drawled. “Don’t know if you’ve ever heard of it, it’s like this treasure-trove of information –”

“Guys!” Peter snapped. “I’m gonna make you _both_ halfling bards if you don’t shut up already!”

I bit back a grin and finally looked at my sheet.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me! A goddamned wizard?”

“How comes he gets to be the wizard?” Stephen’s indignation matched mine.

Natasha, who until now had remained silent, leaned over the table.

“You’re all whining like babies,” she said, her voice quiet and level. “So I’m going to punch the next person who does that. Right there, in the face.” She waved a hand under her nose. “Just so you know.”

“You dare to threaten me –” Stephen hissed.

“Not a threat. It’s a promise.”

“No wonder the Avengers couldn’t stay together!” Peter slapped the table, his anger finally spilling over. “You can’t even play a game without arguing!”

A woman poked her head around the door. Peter’s Aunt May. I sat up straight.

“Are you kids doing OK in there?” she asked, wiping her hands on a towel. “You need some snacks or something?”

“Kids! I love ya, May, you’re a peach,” I said, blowing her a kiss. 

“We’re good for snacks,” Peter said, his mouth a thin line.

“Perhaps some ale?” Thor asked.

“Bud Light?”

He made a face. “I’ll pass, fair maid.”

“Alright. Just holler if you need anything.” She disappeared back to the kitchen.

“Look, can we start this again?” Pete demanded. “Remember that we’re not in kindergarten?”

Embarrassed, we all looked around the table, but nobody made eye contact. There was a chorus of affirmatives. Peter was a hero, someone who stepped up to do the right thing when no one else could, and it was hard to remember that he was still a teenager. Geeky, brilliant – mature as hell for his age – but still a teenager.

He could have been me. Minus the billions of dollars. And the playboy lifestyle. And the attitude. But he totally could have been me. And if we were being called out on our behaviour by someone who wasn’t old enough to vote or drink, then we had to step up and act like adults. 

“Alright.” Peter nodded, sharp and decisive. “Natasha, we’ll start with you.” 

“OK.” She straightened out her character sheet. “I’m Luba. I’m a dwarf cleric. That’s like a healer, right? I get to heal people?” Peter nodded. “That’s cool.”

“My name is Kessik.” Stephen’s voice was flat. “I’m a fighter. And I have a sword.” He squinted at his sheet. “A really big sword.”

“A sword is a noble weapon!” Thor boomed. “The bigger, the better!”

“Who doesn’t like a nice big sword?” I grinned. “OK, so I’m a wizard called Dela, I’m a... Petey, you turned me into a girl? An elf wizard girl?”

“There something wrong with being a girl, Stark?” Natasha demanded.

I cleared my throat. “Uh... no. Um. Nothing. Nothing wrong with that.” Wasn’t looking forward to a fist in the face.

Thor, as usual oblivious to the undercurrents, carried on as if he hadn’t heard a word.

“I am a... a halfling rogue?” He spoke the words slowly, as if testing them out. “My name is Bilbo and I have many skill points!” He looked up, beaming. We ought to get him in a Colgate commercial. 

I bit my lip. Stephen smirked. Even Natasha was looking at the table.

“Right, moving on,” Peter said, clearing his throat. “The four of you are in a tavern in the Faerûn city of Waterdeep. If anybody bothered to read their backstory, you’ve been friends for a while, and you’re looking to earn some coin. There’s a notice tacked to the wall. Apparently the proprietor is having trouble with giant rats.”

“I would like to stride up to the bar,” Thor said, “and declare that I – sorry, that I and my companions – will slay the meddlesome rats.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” Pete said. “Not what you’d like to do. I need definite actions, one at a time. You tell me a thing, I react to it.”

“Oh. Very well.” He didn’t seem perturbed, though he did look at his character sheet again. “I am a halfling, one of the little folk,” he said. “And a rogue. Therefore I will… sidle up to the bar?”

“Good,” Pete said. “What are the rest of you doing?”

“We follow?” I looked at the others. They nodded.

“OK. You line up in front of the bar. Thor, you’re like three feet tall or something. You can’t see over the top.”

“Then I will climb upon a stool.”

“Hey buddy, pretty sure kids aren’t allowed in taverns,” I smirked.

“I am no child, elf woman.” My God, when he was affronted, it was as if he expected the whole world to stop and pay attention. Winding him up was so much fun.

“In character, Tony,” Peter said.

“What?” 

“In character. When you talk to the others, pretend you’re Dela.”

OK. That was going to get annoying. But if Goldilocks could do it, so could I.

“Yo, bar person!” I called, waving a hand as if I was trying to get someone’s attention. I pushed my voice up a notch, not quite falsetto. Stephen grinned; Natasha hid a smile behind her hand. “Chick or dude?” I asked Peter in an aside, ignoring them.

“Chick,” was his reply. “The tavern wench is attractive, long blonde hair –”

“Careful how you finish that statement,” Natasha interrupted.

“What? The barmaid’s hot,” he said with a shrug.

“He’s sixteen,” I told her. “Let him throw in a couple hot barmaids. Life will slap him down soon enough. So Petey, how’s MJ?”

“She’s, uh, not talking to me right now.” His face turned red as a fire hydrant. 

“See?”

Natasha shrugged, conceding the point.

“Barmaid,” I said, pushing my voice up again, “we’re here to kill your rats. Can I order a drink? I feel like I should be ordering a drink.”

“We’re on the clock, Dela,” Nat said. Her dwarfish accent was a little deeper than her regular speaking voice, a little rougher. I expected nothing less from a trained assassin. “Kill first, drink later. If you’re still alive to drink.”

“That’s what _you’re_ here for, right?”

“I can heal you.” Her tone became dry, more like herself. “Doesn’t mean I have to like you.”

“Ouch. OK. Drink later –”

“Have we got any money?” Stephen interrupted.

“Oh, oh, I can steal some money!” Thor exclaimed. 

Natasha sighed. “Thor, honey, you can’t just announce that in front of the whole bar.” Then, under her breath, “ _I_ should have been the rogue.”

I glanced at Peter. He was smiling. I was beginning to see how this game worked – he gave us titbits, crumbs, then just sat back and watched as the chaos unfolded. I thoroughly approved.

“Oh, yes, the whole ‘subterfuge’ thing,” Thor said. Then, “Alright, I won’t steal any money!” His grin was wide and happy. Natasha’s jaw tightened. 

“Back to the rats,” Stephen said. “How many, how big, and where?”

I stared at him. His in-character voice was full-on London gangster, and it was hot. 

“They’re in the basement, my lovely.” Peter’s barmaid voice was British, West Country or something. Cute. “They’re this big.” He held his arms apart, about cat-length. Damn. “And I don’t rightly know how many there are, we didn’t hang around to start counting the little buggers.”

Wow, Petey could really act! Who knew?

“The reward on your notice board is fifty gold pieces,” Natasha said, leaning forward. “Given that we don’t know how many rats are down there, we could be walking into a horde. I think you should double the reward.”

“OK, gimme a Persuasion check,” Peter said.

“Uh…”

“Roll your d20. That one,” he said, helpfully pointing to a twenty-sided die. Her dice were matte black. “Then add your Persuasion modifier.”

She rolled. “Sixteen.”

Peter paused. “Well, my lovey, a hundred gold pieces is a lot of money, but you’re right. The reward should match the risk.”

“Way to go, BW!” I said. She smiled, triumphant.

“Excellent.” Stephen slapped his character sheet down on the table, drawing my attention to his long, lean, scarred fingers. “Let’s go kill some rats!”

 

The barmaid showed us the basement, and Peter explained that it was barred and locked with multiple heavy padlocks. After Thor enthusiastically offered to pick them, the barmaid produced a key, unlocked the door, and waved us down.

Forty-five minutes, eight bags of chips, and endless cans of soda later, we were done. Pete had walked us through combat, explaining which dice to roll, what modifiers to add. Spellcasting was kinda fun, once I got my head around how it worked, and I knew I was definitely going to get some mileage out of Mage Hand. There were all kinds of things I could lift, flip, turn, touch, press and generally fuck around with, top of the list the priceless moment I used my turn to give Stephen’s fighter a wedgie. 

“So you killed a whole bunch of giant rats,” Peter said. “You’ll each get a certain amount of experience points. You get enough points, you level up.

“Points mean prices, right?” I asked. 

“Right. You get far enough into a campaign, you level up after certain events, but you’re only third level characters right now. So what do you want to do next?”

Someone’s cell rang. Natasha grimaced and pulled a slim black phone from a hidden pocket.

“Yes…? OK… when? Now? Like, right now…? Come on, I’m… oh, you are such a kill-joy. You know you’d love it. Alright, alright, I’m on my way.” She ended the call and put her phone away. “Sorry, guys, I gotta run. Work.”

“Avengers?” Crap. Couldn’t the interdimensional bad-guys, foreign despots and megalomaniacal terrorists take one freaking night off?

“S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Go, go,” I said, making shooing motions with my hands. Time and terrorism waited for no man. Or woman. But today, I wished it could have waited just another half hour.

“Aww.” Peter’s face fell. 

Looking around the table, I was surprised to find my disappointment mirrored in everyone’s face. For the first time in… God, months – I’d been able to kick back and relax. There was danger, but it wasn’t real. I knew I’d walk away with body and soul intact. There was humour. Fun. We’d sniped at each other, but it was all good-natured, none of the all-out arguments and eventual fist-fights that usually characterised more than two Avengers working together. 

I looked at Peter, eyes narrowing in thought. Was that his intention? To help us work together, to function better as a team?

“You’re over-analysing it,” Stephen murmured close to my ear. I held still, taking a deeper breath, savouring his scent. Something spicy and sharp.

“Give the kid some credit,” I murmured back.

“S.H.I.E.L.D have many operatives,” Thor said, scowling. “Can they not send someone else? Who will tend to our hurts while you are gone?”

“We’ll have to call a rain-check,” Peter said. “It’s hard to run a campaign unless you’re all here.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Natasha said, gathering up her things, tying her hair back. “I want my experience points, Parker.”

“You bet!”


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Stephen flirt over tea. At least, Tony think's they're flirting. After the next DnD session - where he tries to gain Stephen's attention, with unexpected consequences - Peter urges him to act on his feelings.

Thor split in a shower of rainbow-coloured Bi-Frost that left an intricate burn-mark on the carpet. 

“Ah, shit.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “Can we tell him not to do that? May’s gonna kill me.”

I took pity on him. “Tell her I’ll pay for a new one.” Shaking his head, Peter started clearing the table.

“So, uh, you wanna go grab a coffee or something?” I asked Stephen. Like a kid at Disneyland, I wasn’t ready for the afternoon to finish.

“I’ve got time,” he said. He was quick to hide his surprise, but not before I saw it.

“Well that’s an enthusiastic ‘yes’.” 

“It’s coffee. Well, tea in my case, but still.”

“Yeah. But with me.” I brushed imaginary dust off my shoulders. 

“Watch yourself,” he said, smiling. “You’re ego’s showing.”

“Oh yeah, sorry about that.” I slapped at my chest as if I was trying to stop something escaping. “It keeps trying to get out, can’t keep it in my pants.” And oh sweet mother of God, why had I just said that?

“So I’ve heard.” His lips quirked, clearly trying to stop a grin.

 

We headed to the nearest Starbucks. It was a nice day, afternoon sunlight growing soft as the evening crept in. 

“We could walk back to the Sanctum,” Stephen suggested as we left the queue. It was more of a statement than a question, but I recognised his uncertainty. “Maybe look over our character sheets.”

“No beings of pure energy to fight?” I asked, sipping my coffee. People were looking at us, taking pictures on their cells, some more discreet than others. Standard behaviour when I was out in public. It was nothing I wasn’t used to, but today it was a pain in the ass because it split my attention from Stephen. “No ancient artefacts that accidentally try to kill you in your sleep?”

“That was one time,” he said as we hit the sidewalk, his eyebrows snapping together in a scowl. “The Cloak let something out, it…” He shook his head. “Why did I even tell you about that?”

“Because you Apparated into my lab, Harry Potter, in the middle of the night. In your underpants.”

“I was _not_ in my underpants!” he snapped. “They were sleep shorts! And if you call me Harry Potter again I’m hexing your cell.”

“Can you really do that?” I asked, genuinely curious.

He fixed me with a flat look. Alright. Point taken.

 

“So how’d you get so good with that accent?” I asked later. We were settled in Stephen’s study with fresh drinks. I wasn’t big on tea, but when he made it, it always smelled so good.

“College. I took a few acting classes, just for the experience.” He tilted his head to one side. “You thought it was good?”

“Excellent. The best. Panty-dropping. If I was wearing panties, that is.”  
His eyes narrowed, honing in on me with laser intensity.

“OK. Now I’m picturing you in panties.”

I choked on my tea. Putting it carefully down, I said, “Yeah? What kind?” 

“Lace. Black.”

“That is... surprisingly specific.” Now I was picturing it too, only in my head he was pulling them off. With his teeth.

New tension crackled between us. We stared at each other. Stephen seemed on the verge of speaking again when the door opened, and the Cloak floated in.

“Hiya, buddy!” I said, unsure if I was grateful for the interruption. My heart was racing, and I was half-hard, my slacks uncomfortable. 

Playboy Tony Stark was a well-known persona. What wasn’t well known – in fact what wasn’t known at all, had been repressed and denied for years – was the Tony Stark who liked guys, too.

The Cloak zoomed across to us, raising a corner of its hem. We high-fived and the tension was broken. Stephen reached for his character sheet, and I knew the moment was over.

 

I thought about those moments a lot over the next couple of weeks. And when I say thought, it was closer to obsession. Though I’d always found Stephen attractive – hell, most of the Avengers team ticked my boxes – I’d never considered him in an overtly sexual way. I knew he’d had a relationship that ended before he became a sorcerer, even before his accident. Other than that, he was a closed book. 

And now? I guess we could call ourselves friends. Anyone who sat down and played Dungeons and Dragons together had to be friends, right?

So why was I spending so much time imagining what it would be like to have something more?

It was a crazy idea, and I should forget it right now. He hadn’t given me any indication that he was interested…

Right. Because that comment about panties totally wasn’t a neon sign.

I wondered what I should do. The most sensible thing would be to ignore it, pretend it didn’t exist, that we were just colleagues and friends. But that wasn’t what I _wanted_ to do. On the other hand, I couldn’t just march up to him and ask if he wanted to take me to bed (although that often worked on the ladies. Being a billionaire with a playboy reputation went a long, long way). I had to test the waters first. Crap. Subtlety wasn’t my strong suit.

What was that Tolkien quote? ‘Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger.’ And I was a wizard. Well, Dela was a wizard. Maybe I could use that…

 

It took a lot of wrangling, but we eventually managed to schedule another game. Nat messaged to say that she was going to be late – something about an Iranian terrorist unleashing Sarin at JFK Airport – so I geared up and swung by to lend a hand. Turned out she didn’t really need my help, but having Iron Man on site directed the heat away from her long enough to hand her guy over to some beefy dudes from S.H.I.E.L.D without being interrupted. 

Plus, I was able to give her a piggy-back ride to Pete’s, which made up the time. There was no situation in which having Natasha Romanov’s long, muscular legs wrapped around my waist, her hands clamped on my shoulders, was not a bonus. Even if the suit meant I couldn’t real feel it.

And I was secretly wishing that she was Stephen.

When May let us in, the others were already there, bickering gently. I thought Thor would have brought beer with him, but everyone was drinking soda. A bag of chips had already been opened and was half-empty. The carpet was brand-new. Nice colour.

“Don’t eat all the chips,” I said, sauntering into the room. “And you know, Petey, we could always hold the game at my place. More room equals more snacks.”

“What’s wrong with my snacks?” May demanded, arms crossed.

“Nothing, not a thing, they’re perfect.” Too late I remembered that keeping Peter’s insanely hot Aunt May on side wasn’t just a good idea, it was a no-brainer. “But I can get more… OK, dumb idea, forget I said anything.”

“We have a plentiful quantity of Earth snacks!” Thor said, raising an opened can of soda. “I am particularly partial to this orange-flavoured beverage! It tingles when I swallow!”

I risked looking at Stephen. He was trying not to grin, and failing. When his eyes snapped to mine, I looked away.

“Who loves orange soda?” May asked, a half-smile lighting her face. I looked at her, baffled.

“Th-Th-Th-Thor loves orange soda!” Nat shot back, then dissolved into laughter.

“So the Black Widow’s a closet Kenan and Kel fan,” May mused, shaking her head. “Who knew?”

“Oh, ma’am, there’s nothing closet about it,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve got everything they did on DVD, I’ve got posters, I even got a signed manuscript.” 

“Who are this ‘Kenan and Kel’?” Thor demanded.

“Earth TV,” May said. “Remind me to show you some time. Now if my chips pass muster,” and she gave me a hard look, “I’ll bring in a couple more bags.”

“And, uh, you got any of those little chocolate things…? OK, I’ll shut up now.” I mimed pulling a zip across my lips. “This is me, shutting up.”

“Dude, don’t mess with my aunt!” Peter hissed when she’d gone into the kitchen.

“Sorry, man. That was stupid of me. Let’s just get down to business.”

We settled down. I made sure I was sat next to Stephen. I really had to learn to put a filter on my mouth. Although, at age forty-eight, there was a fair chance that was never gonna happen. 

Petey told us how many experience points we’d gained from the rat-fight. We wrote them down. Wow, still a _long_ way to go before we levelled up.

“Uh, pretty sure I need healing,” I said, finally looking at my hit points. “Rule one of DnD club, protect the wizard, right?”

Stephen snorted. “A true wizard is able to protect themselves.”

“I’m like a level three character!” I said, trying not to get annoyed. “I have this many spells!” I held my thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “And half of those aren’t combat based.”

“Guys…” Natasha warned.

“Alright, alright.” I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed, trying to tamp down my irritation. In all the time I’d spent obsessing over Stephen, I’d obviously forgotten that he could be a massive asshole. 

“Who needs healing?” Nat asked. All three of us raised a hand. She rolled a couple of dice. “I cast Cure Wounds three times. You get ten… you get six… you get nine. Better?”

“It’ll do,” Stephen said, making a note on his sheet.

“You can also take a short or a long rest to recover hit points,” Peter reminded us.

“Jeez. This game has got as many rules as S.H.I.E.L.D,” I groused.

“And we all know your aversion to following rules,” Stephen drawled.

“Ah, hello? Sokovia Accords?”

“Can we not talk shop right now?” Peter snapped.

Everyone was glaring at me. Shit. “Sorry.” I held up both hands. “My bad.”

Peter riffled through some sheets, concealed by a cardboard screen.

“Alright,” he said. “Luba the dwarf cleric heals you. You’re surrounded by a pile of rat corpses. What do you do?”

“What kind of a room is this?” Nat asked. “Storeroom? Living quarters? You just told us ‘basement’.”

“It’s a storeroom. You see barrels stacked against the walls and a few crates.”

“D’you think we should check to see what’s in them?”

“This is a tavern,” Stephen said. “What do you think will be in them?”

“I know this one!” Thor chimed in. “Ale! And food that goes well with ale!”

“Or maybe the tavern’s a front for a secret cell of cultists bent on overthrowing the Lords of Waterdeep.”

We all stared at Natasha.

“What level do we get to conspiracies?” I said into the bemused silence.

Peter cleared his throat. “Nat, give me a Wisdom check.”

“What?”

“That number right there…”

“I know what it is.” She grabbed her d20 and rolled. “Eleven.”

“It doesn’t even occur to Luba that the tavern might be a front for anything other than a good drink.”

“Wow, that’s the politest way of saying ‘fuck you’ I ever heard,” I said, grinning.

“I wasn’t –”

“Yeah, yeah.” Natasha waved a hand. “Let’s go claim our reward already.”

“You go back upstairs,” Peter said. “People are watching. Stephen – I mean Kessick – you’re covered in rat blood, and Dela, the hem of your robe got a little singed when you cast Acid Splash.”

“Well shucks,” I said. “Guess I won’t be wearing this robe to the party.”

“We go to the bar,” Nat said. “Damn. I should have brought a rat head with me. Then I could slam it dramatically down on the bar top.”

“The barmaid holds out a small leather bag,” Peter said.

“I’ll take that, thanks.” Nat jumped in before I could speak. “I open the bag.”

“Wait, wait!” Thor said, flicking through his character sheet. “The wench could have laid a trap upon it!”

Nat gave him a look. “It’s a money bag.”

“Good place to put a trap,” I said.

“It’s a quest reward!” Nat said. “I’m not checking it for traps!”

“You’re just gonna open it?” Peter asked.

“Yes!”

Peter smiled. He picked up a die. Rolled it. Glanced at the number.

“You open the bag,” he said. We all leaned forward, waiting for something terrible to happen. “You see… a number of golden coins.”

“You little shit,” Nat growled.

“Ah ah ah.” I shook a finger. “Don’t diss the DM.”

“Can we buy ale now?” Thor asked. “We fought, we recovered our spoils, and now we must drink!”

“Sure, why not.” Nat gave Peter a black look. 

“Bar wench!” Thor said, waving a dramatic hand. “Four mugs of your finest ale!”

“She pours you all a drink,” Peter said. “Four copper pieces each.”

After a minute of muttering and basic math, we paid up and directed our characters to a table.

“Alright, what’s next?” Nat asked.

“The notice board,” Stephen said. “There were other jobs, yes?”

“You remember that there were other scraps of parchment,” Peter said. 

“Then we’ll finish our drinks and take a look.”

I realised that this would be a good time to initiate the first stage of Plan Subtle: - get Stephen’s attention.

“So this is like a bar, right?” I asked. “Is there any entertainment? Live music? Clowns?”

“Clowns?” Thor asked, baffled. 

“Or, you know, mimes or something. Jugglers. I don’t know.”

“I dislike mimes.” 

“You and me both.”

Peter flicked a page behind his screen. “There’s a bard in the corner, an elf. He’s playing a lute.”

“I’m curious,” I said. “I get up and move closer. Is he good?”

“You leave the table and head toward him. He’s not bad. He notices you.” A wicked grin flitted across his face, there and then gone. “He stops playing and winks at you.”

“You play well,” I said, pushing my voice up. 

“Thank you, kind maiden.” Peter’s accent softened. French, maybe Italian. “You are most kind to say so.” Oh. Definitely Italian. Nice. He leaned forward. “Are you alone, my dear?”

Stephen let out a contemptuous snort. Nat giggled, then quickly smothered the sound behind her hand. Thor appeared absorbed with the nearest packet of chips.

“Depends what you had in mind…”

“What I had in mind requires you to be alone… with me.”

 

I flirted with Petey – or rather, Dela flirted with the bard – and he didn’t bat an eyelid. The kid was showing all kinds of acting skills that I’d had no idea even existed. I didn’t look at anyone else, though I paid attention to Stephen from the corner of my eye. His posture was stiff, arms folded, mouth a thin line. 

It was probably a dick move to try to make him jealous, even second-hand through a game. Although I might be misreading him. He could just think I was a douche. 

We played for another couple of hours, following another quest hook on the notice board. Stephen didn’t say much. I began to worry that I’d overstepped the mark. When the session came to an end – without anyone having to duck out and go save the world – Stephen left first, gathering up his sheets and dice. He held out his arm and a glowing orange portal appeared against May’s wall.

“Wait, you wanna go for a –”

“No,” he snapped, and strode through the portal. It snapped shut behind him.

“That was rude,” Thor said. 

“Yeah, well,” I muttered. “Maybe I deserved it.”

“Tony, you got a minute before you go?” Peter asked.

“Sure.” Why not. Wasn’t as if I was gonna run off after any tall, dark and brooding sorcerers. I leaned against the wall, hands in pockets, waiting for Natasha and Thor to leave. 

“You OK?” Peter asked when they were gone.

“Yeah. I’m great. I’m amazing. Never been better.”

“You look like your dog just died.”

“I don’t have a dog.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Kid, I have no idea what you mean.” But I knew. Of course I knew. I’d had the idea before, and I had it again now – Peter Parker was a lot more intuitive, a lot more empathetic, than anyone gave him credit for. 

“I think you need to go talk to him.”

“Talk to who?” Still pretending. God, I was an idiot. 

“Look, I know a lot of the Avengers don’t take me seriously, and I’m OK with that. I’m still a teenager and adults always look down on us.”

“That’s not true –”

“Tony, come on. The first time I came to the compound, your guy Rhodey outright asked if I was your secret lovechild.”

“He _what?_ ”

“I know, right?”

“That ass, I’m gonna –”

“The point is that I’m used to people underestimating me. And I can live with that, because I know you’re not one of those people. They let things slip. They don’t hide how they feel.”

“Don’t get used to that,” I said. “People hide how they feel all the time.”

“Yeah,” he said. “They do. So go _talk_ to him, Tony.”

“And say what?” I demanded, running a hand through my hair. “Tell him I’ve spent the last couple weeks wondering what it would feel like to kiss him? And – other things?” Whoops, time to slap a censor on my mouth.

“Sure, why not? You ever think that maybe he’s spent the last couple weeks wondering the same thing?”

I opened my mouth. Hesitated. Closed it.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?” I said.

“You got it.”


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's in-game flirting has backfired, and Stephen doesn't seem to want to talk to him. But eventually he relents, and Tony - albeit clumsily - admits his attraction to the Supreme Sorcerer. An intense conversation leads to something more intimate.

When I got home I sat down and messaged Stephen. 

_Can we talk?_ It took me a whole ten minutes to come up with that.

I waited. No reply. Five minutes became fifteen. A half hour. Forty minutes. 

_Nothing to talk about,_ was his eventual reply. He had so little control of his fingers that he was barely able to use a pen, but I’d watched him using a cell phone. He used his magic to operate the touch screen, a gentle pressure that was enough to operate most apps. He was a little slower at messaging but he got there in the end.

But it wouldn’t take him even four minutes to tap out four words, let alone forty. Maybe he was busy. 

More likely he was just trying to ignore me. 

_I need to talk to you,_ I messaged back.

_I suppose the great Tony Stark always gets what he wants._ That came back only a few minutes later. I had his attention.

_What I want and what I need are two different things._

_Well done. You've finally reached adulthood._

I tapped out a sharp reply. Deleted it. I deserved that.

_I’m sorry,_ I messaged back.

_What for?_

_Take your pick. But mostly for being an asshole._ This was never going to work. 

_Are you at home?_

_Yes._ Fresh hope welled up inside me. Surely he would only ask that if…

A portal opened. Stephen stood on the other side, arms crossed.

“May I come in?” he asked.

“Sure!” I shot to my feet, excitement warring with nerves.

He stepped through the portal. It vanished behind him.

“You wanted to talk.”

“I, uh... I mean...”

“Use your words, Tony.” The corner of his mouth quirked in a smile.

As Stephen had said, I was an adult. I was almost fifty, for Christ’s sake. So why was I so nervous about this?

“OK, I’m just gonna come right out and say this,” I said. “I mean I’ll understand if you tell me to get lost, I wouldn’t blame you, God knows everyone thinks I’m a man-child so why would you be any different –” 

“Tony!” he interrupted. “Just tell me already!”

This was a bad idea. This was _such_ a bad idea. But I’d come too far to back out now.

“Alright.” I took a steadying breath. “I... I like you, Stephen.” And that made me sound like a goddamned eighth-grader. “I mean I’m attracted to you. The beard, the hair, that gangster accent you put on, that’s scary hot.” I was rambling now, embarrassment coiling in my gut. “I tried to make you jealous by flirting with the bard, it was stupid and I’m sorry for that, I mean why would you be jealous if my character flirted with someone who wasn’t real? Not that you’d be jealous anyway...”

I trailed off into nothing, my face hot. Stephen said nothing. I waited for him to leave, to turn on his heel, open a portal and leave me behind. I’d gambled on him feeling some kind of attraction in return, but it was obvious that I’d been barking up the wrong tree.

He didn’t leave. But he didn’t move, either.

“I _was_ jealous.”

“Wow.” The single statement knocked me for six. “I hoped… I mean it was dumb for me to do that, but I still hoped you… man, this is hard.” I rubbed a hand across the back of my neck.

He was watching me with laser intensity again, the full force of his regard boring into me. I was comfortable among billionaires, statesman, monarchs, superheroes. So why was I so goddamned tongue-tied when it came to him? 

“It’s not like you to struggle to express yourself when there’s something you want.” His voice was flat.

“Some _one,_ ” I corrected.

“Aren’t they the same thing to you?” His head tilted to one side. “You use people like you use objects.”

“That was true,” I admitted. I couldn’t lie about that. The evidence was littered throughout my past for anyone to see. “But I loved Pepper. She, uh…” I swallowed the lump in my throat, imagining I could swallow the emotions her name and memory evoked. “She taught me how to be a halfway-responsible human being. And then she died.” I coughed, put my hands on my hips. “There’s been no one else.”

Simple story: - billionaire meets girl. They fall in love. Girl gets cancer. Billionaire – for all his wealth, all his access to cutting-edge technology and the latest in medical healthcare – couldn’t save her. Girl died. The end.

Stephen arched one beautifully-shaped eyebrow. “Should I be honoured?”

“No! God, no. That’s not what I meant.”

“I don’t do one-night stands, Tony.”

“I don’t want a one-night stand.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth I knew they were true. Something about him – his intensity – told me that sex with him would be beyond the best experience of my life. I’d want that again. And again and again. 

“Then what _do_ you want? A relationship?”

“I…” OK, this was not how I envisioned this conversation might go. 

“I knew it,” he said with a contemptuous shake of his head. “You’re just paddling in the pool. I won’t tolerate being on your bucket list.”

“That’s not it!” I stalked closer, incensed that even after I’d opened up to him, he was still putting me down. “So yeah, I’ve kept this part of myself locked down, but I’ve got _reasons,_ dammit!”

“Enlighten me.” His smile was mocking

He still hadn’t walked out. I kept that in the back of my head, deliberately keeping my mouth shut until I had my thoughts ordered. Whether he realised it or not, he’d given me a chance.

“When I joined my father’s company, everyone was telling me how I should act, how I should behave. Coming across as a hundred per cent straight was part of that act. Eventually it became too hard to break away from those expectations. I just… I kept quiet about being bi.”

Another long pause. The mocking gleam was gone from his eyes. 

“With me, it was time,” he admitted eventually. His voice wrapped around me, deep and soft. “Ironic, really, given my occupation now. I never repressed my sexuality, but it was never important enough to me. I was consumed with learning. Progressing my career.”

“But you dated Christine.”

“I met Christine when I was at the height of my career. I was finally able to pay attention to the people around me.”

“And now?” I hardly dared ask the question, but I had to know. 

“The accident changed me.” He held up his scarred hands, the faint tremble apparent. “I know you understand what that’s like.”

Yeah. Yeah, I understood. Pain – deep, excruciating pain – made you re-evaluate your place in the Universe. Fear and pain were tremendous levellers. 

“So where does that leave us now?” I asked.

“That’s up to you.” His eyes drilled into mine. “I can walk away. We stay friends, in as much as you act like a brat and I call you out on your bullshit.”

I held back a grin. That pretty much was how our friendship worked.

“And the other option?” I asked. “The one where you don’t walk away?”

“Come here and you’ll find out.”

My feet were moving before I knew what I was doing, bringing me closer to him, aroused by the simple command. He was taller than me. I liked that. I stopped when there were only a few feet between us.

“Closer.”

I closed the gap. I felt his body heat, smelled the light aroma of tea on his breath.

He reached up, scarred fingers cupping the side of my face. His skin was warm and dry. His scar-roughened thumb brushed a path over my cheek. I stared at him, helpless but not scared. Excited. Yearning. His hands weren’t trembling now.

He bent his head, eyes closing, and pressed his lips to mine. They were as warm and dry as his fingers. That simple gentle touch sent a pulse of fire straight through my body. I curled my palm around the back of his neck, fisting my other hand into his tunic as I pulled him down lower. I opened my mouth and flicked my tongue out, searching for his, flicking past his teeth. He made a soft sound of pleasure.

When he finally raised his head, his eyes were half-lidded, lips parted. I leaned forward and kissed him again, drunk on the feeling of his mouth against mine, on the sensation of his heat seeping through my clothes. His free arm closed around me and finally the space between us vanished.

His body was hard and lean, his scent a little like sandalwood, a little like cedar, and a lot like man. I felt the press of his erection against my stomach.

This time when the kiss ended, he pressed his forehead against my shoulder, panting, the hand that had cupped my face moving to grip my shoulder. We stood that way for a few minutes. I didn’t dare say anything, worried that I’d fuck up a perfect moment.

“Who knew that all I had to do to quiet that mouth was to kiss you,” he murmured.

I shivered in his arms. I was here. He was here. This was real. What he made me feel, that was real, too.

“I’m feeling kinda chatty,” I said. “Think we need to work on the whole ‘kissing to shut me up’ part.”

 

We spent… God, I don’t know, it felt like hours – just standing there, necking like teenagers. I was so hard I thought my slacks were going to split. But his hands never travelled any lower than my hips, no matter how much I wriggled. And man, did I wriggle. Each rough growl as he licked my lips, as he sucked my tongue into his mouth or trailed kisses along the line of my jaw, was a massive fucking turn-on.

I wanted to feel his weight pushing me up against the wall. Or pressing me down into the mattress. I wanted to see his face as I rode him, feel his hands clamped on my ass, feel the sweat on my palms from his chest. I’d never wanted anyone – woman or man – as much as I wanted him right then.

“How far do you want to take this?” he demanded, a throaty echo in my ear.

“Right now I’m thinking the bedroom’s a damned fine place to go,” I was quick to reply. Both my hands had found their way under his loose tunic. His skin was hot and firm, my fingertips finding a light dusting of hair between his belly button and belt buckle.

“And after that?” He nipped my earlobe. My bones turned to jelly. It was so easy to melt against him.

“Don’t understand.” My fingers dug into his hips.

“What happens tomorrow?”

It finally dawned on me that he was asking a serious question, and it deserved a serious answer. I leaned back so that I could see his face, keeping the rest of our bodies in contact. The grey fire in his eyes burned hot enough to melt the barriers between us.

“What happens tomorrow,” I said, “and all the tomorrows after that – for as long as it takes – is that we work out how to be a couple. I mean, if that’s what you want.” Even after our earlier conversation, I realised that it was presumptuous to assume that he wanted that. He’d out-right asked me if I wanted a relationship, and I’d flubbed the answer.

“That _is_ what I want.” The force behind his gaze was relentless. “And that means you don’t ditch me at fundraisers when some leggy blonde bats her eyes at you. We turn up together, we stay together.” I felt his hand on the back of my neck, his grip possessive. “We leave together.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to say that if he was there with me, I wouldn’t be looking at any leggy blondes. But even in my own head that sounded trite.

“OK,” was all I said.

“I won’t be your guilty secret, Tony.”

“I don’t want to hide this,” I admitted, studying the heavy lines on his forehead, the neat curve of his beard. “A lot of things changed when I became Iron Man. I learned to look at my company in a different way. I learned how to be the man Pepper wanted.” For a brief, blissful time. “I realised that people I trusted and looked up to could lie to me. When I started to work with the Avengers, I learned how to work with other people. Finding out that Bucky had killed my parents… and that the Cap still supported him…” I faltered, struggling with the memories even now, remembering the lost kid I’d been. 

He reached up to hold my face with both hands. He kissed my forehead. For a second my eyes burned. He’d shown me anger, contempt, and desire; compassion was a side of him I’d never seen.

I cleared my throat. “I, uh, I guess what I’m trying to say is that although most people think I’m about as shallow as a puddle, I’m not that person anymore.”

“I believe you.”

I drew a sharp breath, then smiled. He kissed me again.

“You said something about the bedroom…”


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Stephen give in to their desire.

For all that I was eager to get naked, part of me was anxious. I hadn’t had sex with a guy for years. I wanted to live up to Stephen’s expectations. 

“Second thoughts?” he asked as I hesitated at the foot of my bed. His voice had cooled, edged with suspicion. 

“No. Just…” Jesus, if I could tell Stephen I was attracted to him based on nothing more than something that might or might not have been flirting, then I could do this. “It’s just, you know, I’m not ready for the front cover of GQ.”

“Your scars?”

I nodded. 

“They’re a mark of who you are, Tony. Not exactly badges of honour, but signs that you’re a fighter. A survivor.” He reached out and pulled me close; I resisted for a moment, then relaxed. “You’re still tense,” he observed. 

“I haven’t had sex with a guy for like twenty years,” I said, dry. 

“Neither have I. Guess this is a first for both of us.”

I liked that he could look at it that way. It felt more special. 

Maybe I was reading too much into a casual comment. 

But when he bent his head to kiss me, I knew it wasn’t a casual comment. No one kissed like that unless there was something deeper involved. And I should know, because I kissed him back the same way. His eyes were still burning when he looked at me, his hands gripping my arms as he walked us toward the bed.

I let him push me down, bouncing on the springy mattress. He climbed up after me, pushing my knees apart, supporting himself on his forearms as he lay between my legs. His heat sank into me but his body wasn’t quite touching. I couldn’t let that last long, so I arched against him, chasing his mouth, sliding the fingers of one hand into his hair while my other arm curled around his back. His startled moan went straight to my cock.

He broke the kiss long enough to sit back on his knees. He pulled his tunic off and, with a quick flick of his hand, guided it through the air to land on a chair. His magic had always spooked me a little – the long shadow of Wanda’s meddling still lurking in my head, I guess – but I was too damned turned-on to get spooked. I trusted Stephen not to abuse his power around me. I trusted him, full stop. 

I stared at his chest. His skin was pale and beautiful, apart from a pink flush covering his shoulders, upper chest and neck. His nipples were tiny coral buds. Scars – some old, some new – criss-crossed the area, some bisecting the trail of dark hairs I’d felt earlier.

“We all have our scars,” he said, seeing the direction of my gaze. “Some of them are more visible than others.”

I sat up, wrapping my arms around him, and kissed his sternum. He flinched then relaxed. I felt his hands on the side of my head, encouraging me to look up. When I did, his kiss was slow and gentle.

Then he pushed me back against the bed, and there was nothing slow or gentle about him. His kiss was dominating, his lips pushing my mouth open, tongue surging inside. I felt the hard shape of his cock grinding against mine and moaned.

He pushed my shirt up, exposing my stomach and abs. My skin was naturally darker than his, the tan adding another shade, and I was hairier. And more scarred. I had no time to react, no time to warn him, even though I knew he knew. He pressed his mouth against my stomach, kissing an urgent trail over my flesh. The hot flick of his tongue over my scars sent electric jolts through my body, and I arched again, almost overwhelmed by the rush of pleasure and emotion. He waved a hand. One by one, my shirt buttons undid themselves. 

I glanced down just as he looked up. His face was bathed with the pale blue glow from my ARC reactor.

“Does this come off?” he asked.

“It’s hooked up to my nervous system, so I’m gonna with no,” I said, breathing hard. “Nanotech and all that jazz.”

He kissed the heavily-scarred skin beneath the reactor. The light scratch of his beard was another sensation as his lips moved across my pec. Impatient, I shrugged out of the shirt and tossed it away. Stephen looked up, waved a hand, and sent it to drape over his tunic. His smirk had me grinning.

Then his mouth closed over my nipple, and I wasn’t grinning anymore. The hot suction, the pressure, his tongue flicking over my hyper-sensitive skin – I groaned and wriggled against him. He kissed me again, intense, focussed. I was half-delirious.

“Take your pants off.” The command was deep and rough, making my cock twitch again. “I need to see all of you.”

“Right back at ya, Strange.” 

After one quick, hard kiss he rolled away, shimmying out of the rest of his clothes. I followed suit, fingers trembling on my belt buckle, pushing everything down my legs. For a moment they tangled around my ankles and then I felt a gentle tug – Stephen’s magic again, pulling my clothes away, sending them to the pile. Another tug and my socks were gone, too.

Then there was nothing left between us. No barriers. Nothing but our eyes moving over each other, and my _God,_ he was beautiful. Yards of pale skin, narrow hips, long legs. I fucking loved those legs. Dark hair scattered over his body. Scars. Some from his accident, some from battles. His cock was hard and just as pale as the rest of him, apart from the head, which was dark pink. An exclamation point to his arousal.

His eyes was intense as he looked at me. No, not just looking – _devouring._ The heat, the fire, behind the grey was incredible, and I knew that I was never going to forget what happened next. Whether we worked out as a couple or not, I was going to treasure these moments.

We crashed together, legs tangling, arms clinging. His kiss was hot and desperate. Digging my toes into the blanket I rolled us over so that I was resting against his chest, weight on my arms, nestled between his legs. We were both panting, my breath stirring the mussed-up strands of his bangs. 

I scooted back onto my knees so that I could drop kisses across his stomach. His muscles tensed and relaxed with each press of my lips. I felt his hands on the back of my head, his fingers in my hair, trailing down to curl around the back of my neck. 

His cock bobbed against my chin. Then the side of my face. I moved back a couple of inches, brushing the knuckles of one hand over his silky shaft. He sucked in a sharp breath as his cock twitched. When I held him it twitched again. I let go, circling only the base of his cock with my forefinger and thumb.

Slowly – pleasing myself as much as him – I ran my tongue along the underside, swiping it over the head. Stephen let out a tight, hard sound, muffled between clenched teeth, his hips jerking. I liked the way he responded so I did it again.

“Jesus, Tony!” His fingers were in my hair again, tightening, pulling. Riding the edge between pleasure and pain. Was that what it felt like when I licked him? Taking pity, I sucked him into my mouth, jaws wide, feeling his length gliding over my teeth. He tried and failed to stifle a shout.

I slid my mouth over his cock, positioning my tongue to brush the head again and again. After maybe five or ten minutes – and as my jaws began to hurt – he pushed me off with a wordless growl.

“For someone who hasn’t had sex with a man for twenty years, you sure as fuck remember what to do,” he said.

“Thank you so much for that compliment.” I kissed his thigh, nipping his skin, making him twitch. 

In a flash he’d rolled us over, pinning me to the mattress, his hands clamped on my outstretched arms.

“One day,” he said, sucking the side of my neck. My eyes fluttered closed. “One day, I’ll make you speechless.”

“Hickies, Strange.”

“I want people to see them.”

I opened my eyes, made sure that he was looking into them. “So do I.”

We kissed again, slow, deep, as he kept me pinned. I hooked my legs over his, trapping him as he trapped me.

“There’s lube in the cabinet,” I said into his ear. “Condoms.”

Holding me down with one hand, he released my other arm so that he could summon everything out of the bedside cabinet. Watching it float through the air was a surreal experience, but I was too far gone to care. 

He turned me over with gentle hands. The pressure of my cock against the blanket was intense, and I closed my eyes, pressing my face against the pillow, taking a second to ground myself.

“Up,” he murmured, his hands on my hips.

I got onto my hands and knees. I’d never felt so exposed, so vulnerable… so fucking aroused.

All that grounding went out the window at the first touch of his hands on my ass. His fingers dug into my flesh, brushing gently over my hole, making me shiver. Part of me was still afraid; I knew that, however much time Stephen took with preparation, this was going to hurt.

He withdrew his hand. The next touch was cold and wet, his lubed fingers sliding over my hole. His fingertip pushed gently against the ring of muscle, slowly, gently working inside me. Stung a little. It felt big, stretching me, but I knew that was nothing compared to what it would feel like when I finally had his cock inside me. 

“OK?” he murmured, the fingertips of his other hand trailing down my spine. I shivered again.

“Yeah.”

“You tell me to stop, I’ll stop.”

I looked over my shoulder and our eyes met. Something passed between us. Arousal, trust, maybe something deeper. Then his finger moved again, nudging against my prostrate, and I gasped, letting my head drop.

His wicked chuckle made me gasp again. He took his time, slowly fucking me with just one finger, letting me adjust to the feeling.

“Ready for another?”

“Yes! God, yes!”

I looked over my shoulder again, watching as he added more lube and gradually eased another finger inside me. It burned. I winced.

“I can stop,” he said immediately.

“No fucking way,” I growled.

“Tony –”

“I said don’t stop!”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” The sincerity in his voice was humbling.

“The only thing that hurts right now is my dick,” I said, making him grin. “Please, Stephen.”

“I love it when you say ‘please’.” His smile was sinful. I had a witty comeback on the tip of my tongue, but it went right out of my head when his fingers curved and hit that spot again. Every muscle in my body tensed, my fingers digging into the blanket.

He took his sweet time, working his fingers in and out. The burn began to ease, and soon all that was left was pleasure, making my body feel like liquid. My head collapsed onto the pillow of my arms, ass in the air, chest pressing against the bed.

“Now?” he asked, free hand curving around my hip, fingers splaying over my sweat-damp skin.

I loved that he asked before doing. I loved that he was being careful. I loved… I let the idea dance away, overwrought, not knowing whether I could trust that what I felt was a real emotion or just a rush of hormones. 

“Now,” I agreed, raising my head so that I could look back over my shoulder. His fingers were still inside me. I watched, breathing hard, as he waved at the box of condoms, using his magic to pull out a strip and then tear off a single packet. Invisible hands ripped the foil. The condom floated through the air and down over Stephen’s cock. 

“Doesn’t that, uh, break some kind of sorcerer code?” I asked.

He curled his fingers, making me groan and drop my head back to my folded arms.

“I’m the Sorcerer Supreme. I make the code.”

He eased his fingers out. I felt empty. He drizzled cold, fresh lube over my hole, then the head of his cock.

“I mean it,” he said. “You say stop, I’ll stop.”

“Right now I’m saying go.”

He started pushing. It hurt and it carried on hurting. I focussed on my breathing, taking slow, deep breaths. Finally I felt the hard jut of his hips against my ass. Part of me was proud that I’d taken all of him; part of me was trying not to freak out. Neither of those parts was particularly focussed on my cock, so when Stephen’s hand gently stroked, the sensation was enough to jerk me out of my confused headspace. I felt his chest against my back, touching but not pushing me down as he leaned over me.

“Still go?” he breathed into my ear.

“Gimme a minute…”

Letting go of my cock, he kissed the back of my neck, tongue flicking over my earlobe. His fingertips grazed the edge of my ribs, raising gooseflesh, gliding over my skin. He said nothing, didn’t try to rush me. Gradually, bit by bit, the pain faded.

“OK,” I said eventually. 

“Sure?” Another feather-light touch over my spine. I shivered and nodded.

Slowly, he pulled back. The smooth glide of his cock was easier this time, the pain nothing more than a warm sting. He eased back in and the sting faded even more. After another few slow, gentle strokes, even the sting was gone. 

My head drooped again onto my arms. Stephen’s warmth shifted, indicating that he’d leaned back, and then I felt his hands on my hips. He settled into a slow rhythm. Still letting me adjust. 

“Feels good,” I managed to get out. “So fucking good.”

“As good as seeing you like this.” His voice was more growl than anything else, sending a primal thrill right through me. “Knowing that you haven’t let anyone else do this for two decades.” He slowed his pace even more; I felt each individual stroke, each slow glide. 

“There’s no-one like you.” I was letting too much of myself out, revealing too much of how I felt. I clenched my teeth, then let out a low hiss as he pushed deeper inside me.

“Yeah?” His hand splayed possessively over my lower back. “And what am I like?”

“Arrogant.” 

His next thrust was harder. Faster. Hips snapping forward. I buried my face in the pillow, muffling a cry. 

He leaned forward again, wrapping his arms around my chest. The extra contact made me tremble.

“Domineering,” I added, earning myself another hard thrust. A deep groan was wrenched out of my throat; his hand snaked up my chest, finding and turning my chin. We weren’t close enough to kiss, but the fire in his eyes wasn’t just burning, it was blazing.

“So goddamned hot,” I whispered. His hand splayed over my throat, fingers just touching. I wasn’t just trembling now, I was shaking. 

“This?” he demanded. “Or me?”

“Both.”

Slowly, he eased back, but he didn’t let go. His movement carried me with him so that we were both on our knees; his arms wrapped tight around me, my hands on his forearms, letting my head tilt back against his neck. He turned my chin again, and this time we were just close enough that he could kiss the side of my mouth.

Then he was peppering the back of my neck with kisses, my shoulders, finally setting the edge of his teeth against my skin as he built up a fast rhythm. Every thrust made me cry out and that made him go faster, harder, until he was drilling into me; the pressure was incredible and I felt as if my whole body was going to explode. 

“Bite me,” I managed to get out. “Do it, I know you want to –”

“Don’t wanna hurt you –”

“ _Do_ it!”

His teeth sank into the soft flesh between my neck and shoulder, pinching the skin without breaking it. The tiny pain was enough to release the pressure inside me. I came with a series of low, hoarse shouts, mindlessly shooting over the blanket, writhing and shaking in Stephen’s arms. He drove into me, his tongue licking wetly over the bite mark, his breath a gale in my ear. The added sensation of his tongue soothing the skin made me shake even harder.

His arms, already squeezing me, tightened convulsively. A few short, hard thrusts and then he stilled, but I felt his body vibrating – he buried his face against my shoulder, a single low, rumbling groan echoing through my ears. 

I don’t know how long we stayed like that. But it was long enough that my breathing started to slow, and I became aware of the sweat cooling on my skin.

“Are you OK?” He kissed my shoulder, lingering on the bite mark.

“Yeah.” Anything other than single-syllable words were beyond me right now, but that answer seemed woefully inadequate. “Good.”

He pulled out. The sting this time was pleasurable, but the feeling of emptiness seemed wrong. My ass clenched on nothing. He kept an arm wrapped around me, creating a little space but keeping me close; a moment later the crinkled condom and ripped foil floated into the air, balling into a single lump, before shooting off like a comet into the bathroom. It crossed paths with a damp towel.

Sore and exhausted, yet more deeply sated than I could ever remember feeling, I let him clean us both up. We looked at the mess I’d made on the blanket.

“I don’t think I’ve come so hard in my life,” I said.

“Keep that up and you’ll make me even more arrogant,” he murmured. I shivered again. “Let me clean this up.”

For a second I had visions of him changing the sheets. I should have known better. He waved his hands and the mess disappeared, the fabric smoothing out.

“Bet you wish you could’ve cast _that_ spell when you were fourteen.”

“I don’t want to let you go,” he said into my ear.

His words arrowed straight to the broken part of me lodged behind my ribs. 

“Then don’t.”

 

He stayed with me the whole night. I hadn’t slept with anyone – actual sleep – since Pepper, and I’d thought it would be awkward. But it wasn’t. It felt… right. And that scared the shit outta me. Stephen spooned, an arm wrapped around me, his breath on the back of my neck. Despite the mess of emotions in my head, I was out in minutes.

 

I woke sometime in the night, fighting through a nebulous orange-red fog. I was on Titan. Thanos had just stabbed me. My memory of how I’d survived that wound was as hazy as the atmosphere (I’d always thought Nebula had stopped me dying, something she’d neither confirmed or denied) but I remembered the pain – that fucking blade had gone all the way through me.

When I woke, the memory of that pain was fresh and raw in my mind, almost as raw as knowing that we’d failed to stop Thanos. That _I’d_ failed. That most of the people I cared for had just been written out of existence with a snap of his fingers. 

Still more asleep than awake, that pain blended into the memory of seeing Peter dissolve. Seeing Stephen dissolve. The pain was too much and my eyes burned, hot tears welling between my lids.

“…sshh, it’s OK.”

The voice slid seamlessly into my half-awake, half-asleep consciousness. A sense of safety flowed over me. The orange-red mist vanished and I sunk deeper into sleep.

 

When I woke, I knew instinctively that I was alone. The bed was empty. There was no reassuring warmth spooning against my back, no arm draped over my chest, no breath in my ear. Bitter disappointment stuck in my throat.

I opened my eyes. Stephen – fully dressed – had pulled up the chair. He was staring at me, arms braced on his knees, leaning forward. 

“Think you need to work on your bed-side manner, Doc,” I rasped.

“I wasn’t sure how you’d react to waking up next to me.” Apart from his mouth, he didn’t move. He could have been a statue.

“Would have started by saying ‘good morning’. Maybe made a cutting comment about morning breath.” I exhaled on my palm. Winced. “Then asked how you like your eggs.”

“No regrets?” he asked, lifting one finely-shaped eyebrow.

“What, you thought I was going to throw you out?”

“It’s not like you don’t have form.”

It felt like a kick in the teeth, but I deserved it. He wasn’t wrong.

“I _don’t_ regret it,” I said, sitting up. The blanket pooled around my waist. “Now you can get over here and snuggle, or I can get up and go make us breakfast.”

“Snuggle?” He said the word slowly, as if testing it.

“Yeah, you know, that thing you do with other people,” I said. “You have to get real close to the other person, there are arms and probably kissing involved, can’t promise I won’t get grabby –”

“I know what it means.” 

I flipped the blanket back, ignoring the gooseflesh from the slight chill. His eyes latched onto my morning hard-on. 

“Snuggling,” he said, eyes half-lidded. “Then food.”


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group meet for another session. The anniversary of Pepper's death is imminent, and it's making Tony anxious - but he doesn't feel that he can talk to Stephen about it.

“You’re in a maze of twisty little passages,” Peter said, “each one alike. It’s dark. You’re –”

“Oh, please.” I waved a dismissive hand. “You think you’re so smart since you got through the _Zork_ games? Kid, that shit came out when I was your age. It’s ancient history now.”

“Well excuse me, Gramps.” He rolled his eyes. 

“Wait, what’s _Zork?_ ” Natasha asked.

“Text adventure. Computer game. Classic.”

“I remember those,” Stephen said, slowly playing a bright red d20 between his fingers. “Played them a couple times. The thief in the third game was a pain in the ass.”

The movements were stiff and slow, fingers trembling, but controlled. That was another thing I’d come to love about him; he fought against his injuries every day, in a hundred tiny ways that people never noticed. 

We’d been seeing each other for almost two months now. We met up every couple of days – when our schedules allowed – and spent nights together, either at the Sanctuary, my place, the new Avenger’s compound, or Kamar-Taj. 

I liked the nights we spent at Kamar-Taj the best. It felt like a retreat, an escape from the real world. We could just shut ourselves away. There were students and other sorcerers, but when we were there together I was pretty sure Stephen delegated. That was another thing I liked about him – he’d learned how to let things go. For superheros, that was damn near impossible.

I loved the atmosphere there. It was so peaceful, as if nothing bad could intrude. I knew that wasn’t true; while Stephen had never gone into details, he’d made references to another sorcerer stealing forbidden knowledge and trying to bring an evil entity into the world. I’d asked him, half-joking, if that was situation normal. He’d just nodded. Alright, then.

“I have heard of your computer games!” Thor announced. “The honourable game of _Call of Duty,_ where two opposing armies must meet in the field of combat!”

“Dude, you play _Call of Duty?_ ” Pete asked.

“He doesn’t need to play it, he’s virtually living it,” Nat grumped.

“More like _Age of Empires,_ ” I said. “Hammers, swords, sweaty biceps.”

The room took a collective moment to imagine Thor’s sweaty biceps. 

“So…” Natasha said, shaking her head. “Maze, twisty passages, dark.”

“We’ve got a light source,” Stephen said. “Right?”

We flicked through our character sheets. 

“I’ve got a torch,” Nat said.

“I have a bull’s eye lantern,” Thor said. “I do not understand. How can the eye of a bull provide illumination? Is there perhaps a candle shining behind it?”

I pulled out my cell. Did a quick Google image search. Showed it to Thor.

“Oh, I see! It refers to the aperture through which light shines!”

Thor, gotta love him. He could punch like a wrecking ball, but he had the personality of a goddamned Labrador. Labra-Thor. Heh. 

“I would just like to draw the party’s attention to the fact that I’ve still got a Light spell going on my staff,” I said.

“Good,” Stephen said. “Then let’s get going. Peter, I believe you told us last session that there was an open doorway in the east wall.”

“That’s right. You might wanna start drawing a map.”

Stephen picked up a marker pen. His grip was awkward, too tight, but he guided it slowly over the gaming mat. Nobody offered to do it for him. We all respected him too much. If he wanted to do it, he would do it.

“Maybe we should send the rogue ahead,” Nat suggested.

“Indeed,” Thor said. “But first I will listen for any enemies in the room beyond. What do I hear?”

“Gimme a Perception check,” Peter said.

Thor’s dice were pearlescent white. Exactly what I’d expect from the King of Asgard. 

“Seventeen.”

“You listen real hard,” Peter explained, “but you can’t hear much. Maybe the faint sound of water dripping on rock.”

“Could be blood,” Nat said. “Could be a torture room. Maybe some poor guy’s just peed himself.”

Once a secret agent, always a secret agent. 

“You said it was an open doorway,” Thor said. “What can I see – I mean what can Bilbo see?”

“A brick-lined room. There’s a big wooden chest against the far wall.”

“Oh my God,” I said, shaking my head. “I can smell the trap from all the way over here.”

“You think it to be trapped?” Thor asked, cocking his head.

“It’s virtually got a big glowing sign over it that says ‘open me’.”

“I do not see a glowing sign.” He looked at Peter. “Do I?”

“If it was me,” Nat said, “I’d run a mile.”

“Give me a Wisdom check,” Peter commanded.

Thor rolled. “Oof. Four.”

“You think checking out this chest is the best idea you’ve ever had.” He gave Thor a bright, preppy smile. Well, fuck.

“Well then, I would like to sneak into the room and investigate the chest.”

“Roll for Stealth…”

Thor successfully crept into the room. There was a door against one wall, but nothing else apart from this great big chest. If it was a Mimic I was so done. 

“I check for traps.” He rolled a Perception check. “Eighteen.”

“You don’t find any traps.”

“Doesn’t mean there aren’t any,” Nat muttered. “Damned thing could have a DC of like twenty or something.”

I looked at Peter. His face was serene, giving nothing away. Kid was learning to keep a poker face – good. 

“I try to open the chest,” Thor declared.

“It’s locked.”

“Hang on, hang on…” He turned a page on his character sheets. “I use my Thieves’ Tools…?”

“Roll the d20, add your proficiency bonus.”

“Three!”

“Oh, dear lord.” Stephen shook his head; shading his eyes with one hand. “I could have done a better job if I’d just smashed the thing.”

“Then lend me your sword, and I will smash it myself!”

“I’m stronger than you.”

“I am…!” Thor checked himself. “I am a halfling,” he said, subsiding. “You are correct. Then by all means, have at it.”

“Is that what you wanna do?” Peter asked.

“Personally, I think it’s a dreadful idea,” Stephen said. “But my fighter Kessick can’t wait. He wants to find something pretty and shiny he can give to Dela.”

All eyes on the room turned to me. This was only our fourth session, and Stephen had spent part of the last one trying to woo my wizard Dela away from the bard in the tavern. He hadn’t had to try too hard. 

“What?” I said. “She likes shiny things.” I smiled at Stephen. “I do, too.”

“Is that why you built yourself a giant shiny suit?” he teased.

“Nah. I just like polishing my… suit.”

“Do you like it when other people polish it?” His voice had taken on a rough edge. I suddenly wished we were back in Kamar-Taj.

Nat was smiling. Petey was grinning down at his notes. Thor still seemed oblivious.

Stephen and I hadn’t gone out of our way to announce that we were seeing each other, but we certainly hadn’t tried to hide it. I was aware that there were rumours in the gossip magazines. Neither of us cared. 

“I like it when _you_ polish it,” I said.

Peter coughed. “Moving swiftly on,” he said. “Stephen, how do you plan to smash the chest?”

“Is there a padlock?”

“You can’t see. You’re still out in the corridor.”

“I stride purposefully into the room.”

“I just had to sneak!” Thor said, looking aggrieved.

“You didn’t _have_ to sneak,” Peter corrected. “You chose to.”

Stephen smirked. “Can I see the chest more clearly now?”

“Sure. There’s a padlock. It looks heavy, kind of rusted.”

“Then I will use the hilt of my sword to smash it. Strength check?”

Peter nodded. Stephen rolled.

“Twenty-four.”

“Nice!” I said.

“Alright.” Peter straightened the sheets in front of him. “You bring the hilt of the sword down on the padlock with all your might. You feel the jolt all the way up your arms, but the padlock sheers away. Stephen, Thor, both give me a dexterity reflex save.”

“Aw, _shit,_ ” Nat muttered.

They both rolled, grim faced. 

“Nine,” Stephen said.

“Eighteen.” Well of course, the rogue would probably be able to save his own ass. He was like a freaking ninja or something.

Peter leaned forward. “The moment the broken padlock touches the ground, the whole room rumbles. The floor cracks like frosting on a cake and disintegrates in like a ten by ten foot area in front of the chest. Bilbo’s quick reaction means he’s able to leap to safety, but Kessick was focussing too hard on the chest. He falls –”

“Wait, wait.” I hold up a hand, frantically flipping through my character sheet. “I wanna cast Feather Fall, stop him falling!” 

“Alright.” Peter’s nod and quick grin were reassuring. “You wave your hands, utter the spell, and manage to slow his descent.”

“How far am I falling?” Stephen demanded.

“Well, when you land – on your feet, by the way, with no damage thanks to the spell – you think maybe a hundred, hundred and fifty feet.”

Stephen and I shared a look. Wow. I didn’t know whether a fall like that would have killed him – I hadn’t got round to looking at falling damage tables – but it sure as hell would have hurt. I was still a bit hazy on the whole concept of death saving throws.

“Thank you, Tony.” Our eyes met. “I mean, Dela.”

 

“Are you OK?”

“Hmm?” I looked up, realised I’d been staring off into space. We were relaxing over a glass of whisky in Stephen’s study at the Sanctuary. The Cloak of Levitation – pretty much a real-life Feather Fall, but way better – hovered in the corner, shadow-boxing with the corners of its hem. 

“You’ve been… distracted over the last couple of days,” Stephen said. “Is there something you wish to discuss?”

There _was_ something, but there was no way I’d bring it up. The anniversary of Pepper’s death was right around the corner – next week – and I had no clue how the hell I was going to get through the day. I didn’t know much about how to make a relationship work, but talking about the dead woman you’d loved to the guy you were sleeping with seemed like a big no-no.

“Ah, it’s nothing,” I said, waving a hand. “Work stuff, that’s all.”

His eyes were solemn. “You can talk to me about anything.”

Yeah, that wasn’t gonna happen. Avengers were pretty much allergic to the whole talking-your-problems out way of dealing with things; it was one of the reasons we made such good lightning rods for S.H.I.E.L.D and Nick Fury to send out into the world. We kept everything inside, pushing it into a tighter and tighter ball in the back of our heads, until the right trigger set us off and all that pent-up emotion just came spilling right out.

I’d shared some of myself with Stephen already. Enough to help him understand me, understand where I was coming from and what I wanted. But this whole thing with Pepper, that was staying right there in the back of my head. All I needed now was another invasion of Earth or something to bring it out.

And _God,_ just thinking about that kind of thing had to mean I was certifiable. Right?

“You’re doing it again.” Irritation tinged Stephen’s voice.

Shit. “Sorry, man.” I made an effort to pull myself together. I could almost hear Pepper now, hectoring, warning me not to screw things up with Stephen. “Let’s go to bed, OK?”

“I’m not tired.”

“Wasn’t talking about sleeping.”

His eyes gleamed. “Then let’s go.”


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony withdraws further from Stephen as the anniversary of Pepper's death draws closer. Her sister, Victoria, reaches out to arrange an event in her memory - helping kids in an art centre that she had sponsered.  
> After the event is over, Stephen makes an assumption that tears them apart.

Stephen tried to make plans a couple days later. I turned him down. I wasn’t busy – I mean, there weren’t any balls, or charity events, or business meetings. I wasn’t working on any new projects that took up all my spare time. I had plenty of ideas – I always had plenty of ideas – but they would keep. No, I was just… well, _avoiding_ was a strong word, but it wasn’t far from the truth.

With every hour that passed, every day that brought me closer to the day Pepper died, I felt more anxious. It crept over me in little waves, like the ocean lapping over my feet, only there was no way that I could step away. Whatever direction it took, those waves just kept right on following me. 

Stephen tried to make plans again for a few days after I turned him down. And a few days after that. I lied through my teeth, said my diary was full, and I’d let him know. I wasn’t sure if he believed me. I knew I should tell him what had me freaking out, or at least give him some little hint, but I couldn’t. Every time I tried I felt those waves lapping higher up my legs.

My cell rang three days before the anniversary. I’d been spending the last couple of hours looking at holographic plans, but all I was really able to do was just wave my hand to make them flick through the air. None of the words or notations seemed to mean anything.

I made a few more hand movements, tapping quickly through the holographic options until I found the one that connected the call. The caller-ID image was Victoria, Pepper’s baby sister.

“Stark,” I said. The waves lapped higher. Waist-high, at least. I was sinking. 

“Tony.” She sounded croaky, unsteady, as if she’d been crying. The first time we’d met had been Pepper’s funeral. She was a pretty kid, mid-twenties, hair a shade darker than her sister’s. “I, uh…” She cleared her throat. “I was wondering, do you, uh… do you have any plans for…?”

I swallowed against the lump in my throat. 

“You mean plans for the… anniversary?”

“Yeah.” Another tremble.

“Well, I was kinda planning on spending it with a bottle of whisky.” That wasn’t the answer she wanted, and I dragged a hand over my eyes. “Sorry. That was stupid. I don’t have any plans.”

“It’s not stupid.” She sounded suddenly fierce, and I pictured her, a light in her eyes. In many ways she’d seemed like her sister, but all I had to go on was a funeral and a wake.

“You loved her…” There was an audible click as she swallowed. “You’re entitled to grieve. There’s no time limit on that.”

“Yeah.” My eyes were burning. I flashed right back to the day I’d been told my parents were dead. I’d been a little kid, barely old enough to understand that they were gone. Four decades later – in a million tiny ways – I was still trying to process that grief. Sometimes it seemed as if the older I got, the worse it became. 

“I wanted to have a gathering,” Victoria said. “A couple of people, friends, family, the people who knew her best. Just talking about her, the things she liked, the charities and groups she supported. I’d like you to be there.”

My first instinctive response was _no._ I followed that up with _fuck no._ Drag myself through that pain again? In front of her family? She would hate the idea. 

“We could, uh… maybe do something she would have done,” I suggested. “Like, helping out at one of those charities for the day. Or one of her hobbies. Something like that.”

“That’s a great idea.” She sounded brighter. “To be honest the gathering was Mom’s idea, it sounded more like another wake. Ginny hated wakes.”

For a second I wondered who she was talking about. Then it clicked. Ginny – Virginia – Pepper. No one I knew had ever called her anything other than Pepper, but it made sense that her family would call her by her birth name.

“Want my help to organise it?”

“Nah, it’s OK, I’ve got this. I’ll talk it over with Mom, get back to you tonight?”

“Sure.” Then, “Thank you, Victoria. I really appreciate this.”

 

She called again later that night. A bunch of us were going to spend an afternoon at an arts club for kids of low-income families funded by the donations of wealthy patrons. The name wasn’t familiar, but when I hacked into their financial records I realised that both Pepper and I had made donations when she’d been my PA. I was ashamed that I didn’t remember, right up until the point it occurred to me that she’d probably done it using my details. I wasn’t mad. I liked that she’d done that.

The nights leading up to the anniversary, I slept badly. The night before I didn’t sleep at all. I paced, watched endless reruns of cartoons, and ate way too many snacks. Every half hour or so I made up my mind to call Stephen, confess to what was going through my head. Every time I pictured his face twisting. Pictured him pushing me away. No, he didn’t need to know about this, didn’t need to know that even a year after Pepper’s death I was still a wreck.

The next day, I picked Victoria up on the way. I’d lost count of how many coffees I’d drunk. She took one look at my face, and even though I was wearing shades, she pulled me into a hug.

I hugged her back. For a second I could pretend that she was Pepper. But she felt wrong, smelled wrong, reacted wrong. And it was disloyal as fuck to Stephen to even pretend that I was hugging Pepper. We hadn’t exactly made any commitments, but he was a living, breathing human being. Pepper was gone.

“How’re you holding up?” Victoria asked.

“Bout as well as you’d expect.”

“If it’s anything like me…”

“Borderline falling apart. Yup.”

 

The art centre was a safe place for kids to work, to explore their talents and develop new ones, and I loved that Pepper had chosen this place to support. We met up with her mom and dad, her cousins, and her grandparents. Together we helped kids – little ones, teenagers – with whatever they wanted, whether it was moving supplies, acting as life models, handing out chalk or pencils or paint. It was satisfying in a way that I’d only ever found in those rare moments when I was re-purposing something old and broken into something new and useful.

I wondered how Pepper had felt about this place. As my PA she’d been so well-ordered I’d sometimes felt as if she would just pick me up and file me away. There had to be a condition or something, like manic-organised-something or other. The art club was the opposite of that – messy, creative, no real order or purpose to anything. Just a bunch of kids expressing themselves.

Maybe this had been the side of herself she hadn’t been able to let out at work. Or with me. Could she draw? Paint? Sketch? I’d never seen her do any of those things.

Maybe she hadn’t felt as if she _could_ do any of those things, if I was around. 

It was a distressing thought. I’d told her I loved her, would have eventually worked up the courage to propose. Being here, I felt as if I hadn’t known all of her. Didn’t understand a fundamental part of her, because she’d kept it hidden.

I pushed my thoughts to the back of my head, adding them to the ball of anxiety, neuroses and night-terrors. I plastered a fake smile on my face, made nice with Pepper’s family, and helped those kids however the fuck they wanted.

That was the least that I could do for Pepper.

 

“You look all done in,” Victoria said, hours later. “We could probably finish up here. Do you want to go for a coffee?”

“I think if you stick a spigot in my veins I’d gush caffeine,” I said. “So sure, why the hell not.” I was exhausted, emotionally drained. My feet hurt. My hands were covered in chalk. I was pretty sure I’d got chalk on my face, too. I’d have to check in a mirror when I got the opportunity. I didn’t have the energy to worry about it right now.

Victoria nudged me out of the way as I opened the car door.

“You’re beat,” she said. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

I also didn’t have the energy to argue. “No.” I stepped back, gesturing to the car. “Knock yourself out. I mean not literally, if you crash my car I’m gonna sue your ass from here to kingdom come, but you know.”

She grinned. “Get in the car, Tony.”

She drove us to a Starbucks a few blocks away from my place, driving my over-priced sports car like a grandma. She snagged a table outside so that we could enjoy the last of the day’s sun, while I went inside to order. I came back ten minutes later and sat opposite.

“Ginny would have been proud of you today,” she said. “Our parents always called you a spoiled, entitled – well, you don’t need to know exactly what they called you,” she added, stopping herself at the last moment. “But she always believed that beneath the golden veneer, you were a decent guy.”

“I think she gave me too much credit. I’ve spent most of my life being an asshole.” I thought back to one of Stephen’s choicer insults, not long after we’d met. “A douchebag.”

Had we reached Titan by that point? Or was it earlier, when we were fighting Thanos’s henchman in the park? I couldn’t remember. I should be embarrassed about that, but most days it was a blessing not to remember every detail about every battle I’d fought. Usually because they played out behind my closed eyes, in excruciating detail, during my nightmares. 

“How you acted in the past doesn’t matter.” She sipped her coffee, leaned forward, brushed her fingers over my wrist. I was too tired to react. “What matters is how you live your life now.”

“Pepper, uh, she…” I gripped my takeaway coffee cup. Took a hasty sip, wincing as I burned my tongue. “She made me want to be better. I mean, she made me take a look at myself.” I faltered.

“She had that effect on people.” Victoria was smiling.

“Are we…” There was no easy way to answer this. I just had to come right out and say it. “Are we doing this again? Next year?”

“I thought about it.” She leaned back. “And the answer is, I don’t know. It depends how we feel. I like the idea of doing something to honour her memory, but I feel like Ginny wouldn’t like it if we made a big deal out of it.”

“She’s gone, Victoria. She can’t like or dislike it.” I felt like a shit for saying that.

“I know.” She didn’t seem offended by what I’d said. “But as long as someone remembers the dead, they’re never really gone.”

 

She drove me back to my place. I tried to give her money for a cab, but she waved me away.

“Don’t be a stranger, you hear?” she said, wrapping her arms around me. This time the hug felt more natural. “You need a friend, you just call me.”

“Thank you.” I let her go, then stepped back. “Be safe.”

“New York’s got Iron Man and Spider-Man. We’re safe.”

I waited, hands in pockets, as she flagged down a cab. Her parting words were meant to reassure, but they left me feeling anxious again: - I knew from experience, and Peter was coming to learn, that having a superhero in the area was a magnet for every soul from our past that we’d wronged. Every alien warlord. Every terrorist with a grudge to bear. 

 

Stephen called as I got inside. I didn’t want my low mood to bring him down, so I let the phone go to voicemail and hit the shower.

I came out five minutes later, a towel slung around my hips, to find him waiting in my bedroom.

“You ever heard of the front door?” I snapped, surprised. He must have got here by portal.

“Who was she, Tony?” His dark scowl told me trouble was brewing, but I was too slow, too tired, to react, despite the shower. 

“What are you talking about?” I felt water trickling down my legs onto the carpet. I reached for the towel, meaning only to dry myself off, but he grabbed my arm.

“Do you think I’m fucking stupid?” he snarled. “You were out there on the sidewalk for everyone to see. You were all over each other! Is she your Pepper replacement? Were you just using me to fill your time until she came along?”

I stared at him, slack-jawed. There was so very much wrong with what he’d just said – what he’d just accused me of – that I didn’t even know where to start.

“Can we not do this right now?” I said, shaking him off. “I haven’t slept for like three days, so can you just get off your goddamned high horse for a moment?”

“You think I’m going to tolerate you cheating on me –!”

“You think that’s what I was doing?” I yelled, my temper snapping. “You really think so little of me that I’d give up what we’ve got for someone else?” His expression changed, eyes widening, mouth opening, but it was too late. “So why the fuck are you still here?”

“What _have_ we got?” He sounded hurt. Bewildered. As if he was examining our relationship through different eyes. Knowing my luck, he was probably working out all the reasons why we terrible for each other. God knows I’d spent enough hours in the middle of sleepless nights, thinking through those same reasons.

“I don’t know, Stephen!” I put my hands on my hips, head lowered, then looked at him through angry eyes. “You tell me!”

We stared at each other. Neither willing to back down. 

He opened a portal and left. I was left standing, still dripping, on the floor.

 

I couldn’t process the mess of feelings in my head. I tried to sleep. Couldn’t. Cursed all the coffee I’d drunk. Cursed myself, then Stephen, then Pepper, for turning me into this vulnerable, confused, hurting asshole. 

Days passed. I knew I should call Stephen, explain myself, tell him that what he’d seen had a different explanation. But I couldn’t bring myself to make that call. Part of me felt that because he’d been the one to jump to conclusions, he should be the one to make the first move.

I knew him well enough – or at least, I thought I knew him well enough – to guess that he probably thought _I_ should be making the first move. 

Peter video-called me one morning a couple of weeks later. I thought about ignoring him, but I’d already spent the last couple days ignoring him. Ignoring everybody, pretty much. I had work commitments piling up, documents to review, projects to approve, but I couldn’t bring myself to give a shit. 

“Dude!” Peter said, looking at my face. “You look awful! Are you sick?”

Did I really look that bad? I hadn’t bothered to look in a mirror for a while.

“No. Just...” How the hell did I even finish that statement? 

“Is everything OK with you and Stephen?”

Wow. Just a simple question, but it hurt. It hurt a lot.

“Peachy,” I growled. “Next question.”

“Tony...”

“What do you want, kid?”

“I was trying to schedule our next game session, but now I think I should be scheduling an intervention.”

“You’re about twenty years too late for that. Listen, I don’t think I can play anymore.” Not if that judgemental prick Stephen was going to be there. And why the fuck couldn’t I stop thinking about him?

“Why not?” 

“Cus reasons. Later, kid.” I cut the connection. Peter’s face vanished. I felt like a shit for being so brusque with him, but I was losing any and all abilities to actually deal with people. 

I tried not to put it down to Stephen. Tried to tell myself I was just low due to the whole anniversary thing. But I knew better: - I could and was moving on from Pepper. What I couldn’t move on from? The way that Stephen had just assumed I was cheating on him. What hurt even more was that just a few years ago, if I’d been accused of cheating on someone, it probably would have been true. But since Pepper...

Yeah. A lot of things had changed since Pepper.


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when it looks as if their relationship is in tatters, can an unexpected illness bring them together?

I flicked through the latest in a long line of emails from the Board, each more irate than the last. I had work to do, a lot of work, if I wanted to keep my position in my own damned company. I still didn’t want to do it, but I did want to keep my job. 

I spent the next couple of weeks clearing the back log. When I finally settled down, the work provided a welcome distraction from my own thoughts.

But eventually I caught up. No more projects. No more emails. I wasn’t just caught up, I was ahead.

And, I realised when I finally stopped, exhausted. My eyes hurt. Dull pain thumped behind my temples. An hour or two later I started sneezing. That was followed by congestion and chills. Well, fuck – I had flu. Great. Just goddamned great. 

I went to bed and stayed there. I was entitled to a break. 

 

The chime for the front door rang. I was hot, feverish, bouncing from one sweat-soaked nightmare to the next. I missed sleeping with someone next to me. I missed Stephen. 

The chime sounded again. I wasn’t feeling people-friendly right now, but curiosity made me bring up the video feed from the front door.

It was him. 

Oh my God. I’d asked him to use the front door... and he had. Emotions cascaded through my head, too fast for me to identify, but I latched onto one: - relief. I buzzed him in, not stopping to think why.

“Tony?” His voice echoed through the rooms. I didn’t have the energy to call out to him. He kept calling. I heard doors opening. Then he was here.

“My God...” He crossed the floor in a couple of large strides. His cool hand pressed against my sweaty forehead. It felt good. I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensation. 

“You’re burning up!”

“Always thought I was... hot stuff,” I managed to get out, wheezing and then coughing. My chest hurt.

“How long have you been like this?”

Thinking was hard. “Don’t know. A day… maybe two?”

His face was grim. “Stay here.”

Like I was going anywhere in my condition. My whole body felt like noodles. 

He stood, opened a portal, and stepped through. He left it open, giving me a view into Kamar-Taj. I wished I could be back there now, surrounded by the peace and quiet, by the simple healing atmosphere. But I had to face reality. There was no way I could go back there. Not now. Stephen had made it pretty clear that we were done, though when I tried to go back over my recollections of that evening, they were blurry. But I remembered his anger.

He came back a few minutes later. A tray floated behind him. He gestured and the tray landed on the bedside table.

“Drink this,” he said, pouring liquid from an earthenware jug into a small, shallow cup. 

“If you wanted to get me into bed… all you had to do… was ask,” I wheezed. “Oh wait. I’m already here…” No coughing this time, though there was a lump of something nasty at the bottom of my throat. 

“Just drink it.” His scowl cut through my poor attempts at humour. I reached for the cup with both hands. I tried to raise it to my lips, but my hands trembled so much I thought I was going to drop it.

Stephen’s cool touch supporting my hand helped me guide the cup. Our eyes met for a moment over the rim before I looked away, scared of what he might see. 

“What did you… put in this?” I demanded, after the first sip. It was bitter and raw, drying my mouth, but it radiated warmth as it slid down my throat.

“Traditional medicine,” he said. “I know, I know, modern science generally dismisses holistic remedies out of hand, but it also dismisses magic.” His smile was more of a grimace.

“This stuff work?” He helped me take another sip. There wasn’t much left in the cup. I felt the warmth as it hit my belly, soothing and enervating at the same time.

“I wouldn’t be making you drink it if it didn’t.”

I shrugged, unwilling to voice the idea that this was some kind of petty revenge. Make the sick man drink something that make him sicker, sure. 

He took the cup away, then replaced it with a glass of water. 

“Small sips,” he warned. I ignored him. The first touch of cold water in my mouth was nirvana and I took greedy gulps, feeling it travel down my throat and into my stomach. He took the glass away before I could drink anymore.

“Meanie,” I whispered, leaning back against the pillows.

He rubbed his temples. “Go take a shower, Tony. You need clean sheets.”

“Looking after me, Doc?” I didn’t ask him why he’d come back. I wasn’t sure I was ready for the answer.

“Well, I _could_ leave you to wallow in your own germs…”

“I’m moving, I’m moving.”

 

He had to help me to the bathroom. It would be embarrassing, if I had any energy left to care; when I tried to stand, I promptly fell back on my ass. My legs shook and not in a good way.

At least he didn’t try to help me shower.

When I lurched out of the bathroom, the bed linen had been changed. I let my clean body drop into the clean bed. Cool sheets. Mm.

“Go to sleep, Tony. You need rest.”

“You sticking around?”

“Yes. We need to talk… _I_ need to talk,” he acknowledged, filling me with equal parts excitement and dread. “But I need you better first. So sleep. I’ll be here.”

 

When I woke next, hours had passed. I was beginning to feel better. I had enough strength to hold a cup myself, and took another dose of Stephen’s bitter-tasting medicine. He brought me soup. I sat there, spooning it into my mouth, feeling awkward as all hell as he watched me eat. He didn’t speak. A fire burned behind his eyes, intense, hiding his thoughts, but he didn’t speak. I slept again.

When I woke next I almost felt well. Stephen – wearing different clothes, but looking a little rumpled around the edges – had climbed up on the bed beside me and dozed off sitting up, arms crossed, hands tucked under his armpits and legs crossed at the ankles. He’d taken his boots off. Black socks did nothing to hide long feet and bony toes, something I’d teased him about a few times before. 

It was soothing to watch him sleep. Every time we’d slept in the same bed, he’d always woken before me. I wondered if that was deliberate. Sex was one thing, but letting someone see you sleep… when you were at your most vulnerable…

And I was seeing that right now. Whether he intended for me to see this or not, it was happening.

“I can feel you watching, you know,” he said, keeping his eyes closed. He didn’t move.

“What can I say? I like to watch.” 

“You sound better.”

“I feel better.”

Stephen finally opened his eyes. “You look better, too.” He unfolded his arms, pressing his palm to my forehead. His skin was warm.

“Thanks. So, uh, I guess there’s no reason for you to hang around.”

His face tightened for a moment. “I wasn’t planning on leaving any time soon.”

I sat up. This didn’t feel like a conversation I should have lying down. In fact, this wasn’t a conversation I should have in bed, but here we were. 

“What _are_ you doing here, Stephen?”

“Fixing a mistake.”

“You’re the great Doctor Strange.” I kept a tight hold on my bitterness, but a little bit leaked out. “You don’t make mistakes.”

“True.” A shadow of humour crossed his face, but it was of the self-deprecating kind. “I’m also free of arrogance and completely without jealousy.”

“There was nothing to be jealous about.”

“You had your arms around her, Tony.”

I didn’t want to do this. Not here. Not now. But we _were_ doing this.

“I’m going to ask you again,” I said. “What are you doing here? I mean, right now? Why not a couple days ago, or a couple weeks?”

His jaw clenched. I’d hit a nerve. Well, good. I wasn’t about to pull my punches. I was grateful he’d come to look after me, but that didn’t mean I was going to give him an easy time.

“The truth is, I had no intention of coming back,” he said. “But Master Parker is a persistent young man.”

I bit back an angry comment. I didn’t want to lose my temper. I felt better, but I didn’t want to use up all the energy I’d just got back. 

“Let me guess,” I said. “He called every day. Text messages, voicemail, WhatsApp. He sent you emojis. Probably took a whole bunch of selfies, maybe a few videos.”

He grunted. I took that as agreement. 

“And you ignored him.”

Another grunt.

“So what changed?”

“He had a secret weapon,” he said eventually, speaking slowly. 

I lifted my eyebrows.

He sighed, reached into the pocket of his pants, and pulled out his cell. He used his thumbprint to unlock it and swiped through the apps. He turned the screen in my direction.

I saw my face. I looked away rather than see the misery in my own eyes.

“He called you a few weeks ago.” Stephen’s voice was rough.

“That little shit,” I said. “It was a video call. Screenshot, right?”

“Right. He sent it to me. Five minutes later, I was here.”

We looked at each other. He’d been angry – furious – thinking that I’d cheated on him. But as soon as Petey let on that I was sick, Stephen was here. 

That meant something. That meant something big.

“She was Pepper’s sister,” I blurted.

His eyes pinned me. “Why were you hugging her?”

“Are you ready to listen?” I demanded. “Without jumping to conclusions?”

His only answer was a curt nod. That was progress.

“That day was the anniversary of Pepper’s death.”

His eyes widened, flickered. I could almost see the thoughts crossing his brain. But he didn’t interrupt.

“You remember I told you I hadn’t slept for three days?” I asked. He nodded, wary. “I wasn’t exaggerating.”

His face softened. He opened his mouth, hesitated. Closed it again. 

“Victoria – that’s Pepper’s sister – suggested we do something as a family to mark the day. She gave money to an art centre for low-income family kids. We spent the afternoon there.”

It gave me no pleasure to see the shame in Stephen’s eyes. He’d seen what he’d seen. It hadn’t been the truth, and I thought he’d over-reacted, but I did at least understand _why_ he’d over-reacted. 

“I’m…” He sighed, rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

He was a proud man. I understood that, because I was proud, too. We were too alike in too many ways. It cost him to apologise.

“So where does that leave us?” I asked.

“That’s up to you.” His eyes played over my face. 

“Kind of think it should be up to both of us,” I said. “That’s how relationships work, right?” Pepper had taught me that. “You screw up, you apologise. You come out stronger.” I waved a hand. “I’m using ‘you’ in the generic sense here, because I’m pretty sure I’m going to fuck up sooner or later too.” 

“Yeah. I don’t think you’re wrong there.” His eyes slid away from mine, but when his gaze returned that burning intensity was back. “But Tony, we have to learn to talk about things.”

“Uh... pretty sure that’s what we’re doing now.”

“I don’t mean just now. I mean with Pepper.”

“I’m not following.”

“I didn’t know that day was the anniversary of her death. I didn’t know you hadn’t been sleeping. I didn’t know a thing about how you were feeling, because you didn’t tell me.”

“Yeah, I’m, uh...” I coughed, cleared my throat. “Not so good with the whole ‘sharing is caring’ thing.”

“I care, Tony.”

I swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. So I said nothing.

“I knew something was bothering you,” he continued. “I knew you were making excuses not to see me. I thought you were getting bored.”

“Bored? Are you nuts?”

He shrugged. “The jury’s still out on that one.”

“Stephen, listen to me.” I reached across and grabbed his hand, clasping it tight. “You’re literally a brain surgeon. You’re a sorcerer. My God, you’re the Sorcerer Supreme. You’re the most interesting man I know.”

“Also arrogant, jealous, self-absorbed...”

“Yeah.” There was no getting around that. “But recognising those traits is the first step to improving yourself.” I hesitated. “That was one of the things Pepper used to tell me.”

“Sounds like a wise woman.”

“She was.”

He took my other hand, threading our fingers together. It was intimate without being erotic. It made me want to cry.

“Promise me you won’t keep things bottled up,” he said.

“I promise I’ll try.”

“That’s all I can ask.” His smile was frank and open. I smiled back. Lifted one of his hands to my mouth and kissed his bony knuckles.

“Hope you don’t mind germs,” I warned.

“I think you’re past the infectious stage.” He pulled both hands back, but only so that he could curl one around the back of my neck. He leaned over and kissed me. It was warm and gentle. Tears pricked my eyes.

“I care,” I blurted, trembling on the edge of deeper emotions. Emotions that scared the hell out of me… because I’d felt them once before.


	8. 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The campaign draws to a close, and Tony realises that his feelings for Stephen run deep. But can he find the courage to admit how he feels, or will his tendency to hide his emotions break them?

We had the vampire surrounded. She was a tough bitch – we’d already given her a few good hard knocks – but I’d taken a sneaky second to look up the challenge rating on her skanky ass, and I knew she wasn’t going down easy. Add to that her crazed Renfrews – one of which had just crawled up a wall and was clinging to the ceiling – and we were a few bad rounds away from a TPK.

“Dela, you’re up,” Peter said.

The table was tense. We’d taken some damage. Luba had a few healing spells up her sleeves, and we’d found a couple potions along the way, but we were saving them until we really, really needed them. I was thinking we were a couple critical hits away from that point.

“OK, we need to get rid of these goddamned minions,” I said. I’d armoured up as soon as combat kicked off – Mage Armour was a poor substitute for my suit, but there was no way I could legitimately get that into the campaign. “I’m going disco. Sunbeam me up, Scotty.”

“Nice,” Peter said, nodding. “Show me on the game mat where you wanna aim it.”

I flicked my eyes over the spell description. Sixty-foot line, five feet wide. Well, that kinda sucked. I’d been hoping for a cone spell. 

“Chick on the ceiling,” I said. “Because of course they’re not all arranged in a nice neat line.” 

Peter’s smile was smug. “Alright. You aim your hand, and a beam of pure sunlight erupts from your palm. Ceiling Chick has to make a con save…” He rolled his own d20. “…which she fails. Cool. Roll for damage.”

The spell did 6d8 damage. “Gimme your dice,” I said, waving a hand at the others.

Four other eight-sided dice rose into the air, Stephen’s fingers twitching as he guided them across the table to me. They landed neatly in my outstretched hand.

“I could roll them for you,” he suggested.

“We’ve been over this before,” Peter said. “If I let you use magic to roll you’re gonna cheat.”

Stephen held a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

Natasha flicked her d4 across the table. It bounced off Stephen’s hand.

“That,” she said, “ _that_ could wound you. A few inches up, a harder flick, I could take your eye out.”

We’d all seen her in operation before. Nobody doubted that she could do it. Laughing, I rolled, then did some quick mental arithmetic.

“Thirty-one.”

“Boom!” Nat said, smacking her fist into her open palm.

“Is she dead?” I asked.

“She’s looking kinda crispy,” Pete said, making a note on his sheet, “but she’s still kicking.”

“Damn!”

“Luba, it’s your turn,” Peter said.

“Alright.” Natasha cracked her knuckles. “Gonna do something I should have done as soon as I saw them. I hold up my holy symbol and curse them with the name of my deity. Have some Radiance of Dawn, you godless bitches.”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” I muttered, playing with the dice. 

“I don’t have a good side, asshole.”

“Language,” I chided gently. She flicked me the finger.

“So you get all dramatic and angsty,” Peter said. “Every creature in a thirty foot radius makes a constitution save… OK, fail, fail, save. Gimme a damage roll. Ceiling Chick passed her save, she takes half damage.”

Natasha rolled two dice. “Twenty-four.” She shrugged.

Peter sucked air through his teeth. “So the other creature lets out a horrible shriek and claws at herself. She’s burning up, my God, she’s…” He threw his hands up in front of his face, miming something in its death-throws. Hack. “Kessick.” He looked at Stephen. “Your turn.”

“I would like to smack something,” he said. “In the face. She’ll do.” He pointed to the vampire’s marker, then rolled his attack dice. “Natural twenty.” He brushed his knuckles over the chest of his tunic, then blew on them. “And a handful of plusses. Pretty sure that’s a hit. But I’m completely humble about my staggering combat abilities.”

Peter sighed. “Roll damage.”

We took a minute to work through the critical hit rules. According to Petey, the vamp bitch was ‘starting to look ill.’ 

When it came to Thor’s turn, Bilbo the Rogue really pulled it out of the hat. I lost track of his rolls, but he was glaring at his character sheet and scribbling numbers on the gaming mat. Sneak Attack, flanking damage, ally within five feet… he made the rest of us look like amateurs.

“You guys do realise this is basically what I am?” Natasha said. “Still wondering who the best Avenger is?”

 

It took another three rounds, but we killed the vampire – the self-styled Lady Huldi the Horrific – and took out her minions. Once the glow of sharing out the loot began to wear off, we realised that the campaign had finished.

I wasn’t ready for it to end. Over the last however many sessions, we’d become more than just the Avengers. We were friends. 

“There’s no reason we have to stop playing,” Peter said, correctly interpreting the look on my face. The kid wasn’t just growing up – he was pretty much already there, and maybe even ahead of us. “That’s the beauty of the game. You can pick up another story and carry right on.”

“What do you say, guys?” I asked, looking around the table.

“I’m down with it,” Natasha said. “There’s this whole cross-classing thing I want to investigate.”

“I haven’t had this much fun in many centuries!” Thor said, waving his flagon. He’d brought it one session and now he kept it here, tucked away in one of May’s cupboards. It had carvings of wolves and bears and all kinds of Viking-Asgardian-esque shit. He used it to drink orange soda. 

I looked at Stephen, eyebrows raised.

“I’m sure I can find the time,” he said, feigning disinterest. I knew him better. He loved these sessions. For all that his job – his life – revolved around magic and the fantastic, I was pretty sure he found some measure of escapism in these sessions. 

I did, too.

“Then it’s a deal,” I said. “You wanna buy another campaign or module or whatever they call it, let me know. I can set up an account for group funds. Maybe get a new game mat.” Thanks to Thor’s constant need to write numbers down to work out his rolls, it was looking kinda beat.

Peter’s eyes gleamed. “Can we get some new minifigs?”

“Sure, why not. And I think we need to pay your aunt back for all the snacks and soda, start bringing our own.”

“Cake,” Stephen said.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“We should get cake.” He shrugged. “I’ve got a sweet tooth. So sue me.”

 

Stephen took me to Kamar-Taj after the session ended. We hadn’t been for a few weeks. It had been almost three months since he’d nursed me through my bout of flu, and every day that passed felt as if we’d grown closer.

The feeling I’d had when I’d told him I cared about him had grew stronger. It was strong enough now that I couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t pretend that it didn’t exist. I loved him. The realisation left me confused; love was a good thing, I knew that, but it also left me vulnerable. Pepper’s death left me a wreck. If I lost Stephen now, it wouldn’t just wreck me – it would kill me. 

“You’re looking pensive,” he said later. We were eating a simple meal in his private rooms. We’d started coming here more often, and I liked that. Stephen had his own duties that meant he had to be here. 

I looked at him, hesitating. I didn’t know if I was ready yet to share. I know he cared about me, but there was a world of difference between caring and loving. 

“Just work,” I muttered, looking away. “Crap with the Board, internal politics. Same old bullshit.”

His frame tensed. A pang of guilt nestled in my chest. The last time I’d shut him out had split us up.

“Tony...” 

“It’s nothing.” But I still couldn’t meet his eyes.

He put his fork down and stood up, pulling me with him. I just had the presence of mind to drop my cutlery before he kissed me.

It was a brutal kiss, punishing, desperate and needy all at once. His hands framed my face. I grabbed his tunic and pulled him closer, wanting more. Wanting everything he had to give but too scared to open up and give everything in return.

When he pulled back his eyes were wild, feral in a way I’d never seen before. I took an involuntary step back. He grabbed my shoulders.

“No,” he growled. “You don’t get to do this again, you fucking asshole. If you’d just told me about Pepper we could have saved ourselves a lot of pain.”

I pushed him away, furious. “Right! Because Mr I-Know-The-Secrets-Of-The-Universe never keeps his own fucking secrets!” I was lashing out, angry with him, angrier with myself.

“I’m not going to let you hide things from me!” he spat back. “I hated you for what I thought you’d done, hated that I could care about anyone enough to let them make me feel so fucking vulnerable!” The words were rushing over themselves, spilling out of his mouth, driven by the volcanic light in his eyes. “When Peter told me you were sick I dropped everything and came to you, terrified that you’d been keeping some illness secret and I was going to lose the man I lo-” 

He stopped. It felt like running into a brick wall. I stared at him, trying to pick myself up from the crash.

He opened his mouth. I held up a hand.

“Rewind,” I croaked. “Tell me what you were about to say.”

“What’s the point?” His reply was rough, barely controlled. “There’s no way you could feel the same.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Did it never occur to you that I might, just _might_ feel the same way, and I was bullshitting my way through our conversation because I don’t know how to deal with it?”

His eyes widened, surprise, elation, hope, all making them shine. Then they narrowed again and the light died. It was as if he’d put a lid on his emotions. 

“How _do_ you feel, Tony?”

“Right now I’m feeling as if goat stew might not have been the best choice we ever made...”

I trailed off, watching him intently. He was trembling. It was barely perceptible, but it wasn’t just his hands, it was his whole body. As if what I said next mattered to him. 

“Alright,” I said. “I’m just going to lay it on the line.” I remembered back to that day months ago, when I’d found the courage to tell him that I found him attractive. Fighting Chitauri was a piece of cake. This? This was terrifying. “I... I love you.”

His eyes widened again. This time they stayed that way. His jaw dropped. I stepped closer, taking advantage of his shock, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down. When our mouths were half an inch apart I whispered again, “I love you.”

I felt him trembling through all the points where we were connected. I kissed him, slow, gentle, until his trembles began to subside.

“Damn you, Tony Stark,” he breathed as the kiss ended. He pressed his forehead against mine. “You always have to steal my thunder.”

“Haven’t lost your chance to upstage me, Strangey-boy.”

“There’s no way I can upstage that.” His hands framed my face, a familiar gesture that had become important to me. “I love you.”

Then he smiled. It was dazzling. My arms slid around his waist, anchoring myself.

“Nope,” I said. “Totally upstaged.”

“Shut up and kiss me, you idiot.”

“You need to work on your pillow talk.” 

Then he kissed me, and I couldn’t speak at all.

 

THE END


End file.
